White as New Fallen Snow
by siapom
Summary: A lot had happened some of which would be difficult to forgive. But, difficult does not mean impossible, so this is the story of two Marshals who travel a troubled path, side by side but not always together. M/M Written as part of Secret Snowflake on LJ.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own IPS or the characters. I'm just taking them out to play for a bit.

Written for northwester as part of Secret Snowflake 2010 on Mary_Marshall over on LJ.

Prompt: Mary and Marshall in the snow

"_Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock..."_

"Oh, hell no."

"_Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring_

_Snowin' and blowin'..."_

Mary bolted from her chair and turned off the radio with a smack. "Three times today was enough of that already, thankyouveryfriggin'much." She tried a few other stations, but they all seemed to be spinning music from the same holiday playlist. "Why can't radio stations play regular songs in December? Is there some sort of law against it or something?"

The darkened office didn't provide an answer as she stomped back to her desk and settled in to finish up the last of the reports on her visits to Marshall's witnesses. "Damn holiday. People have all gone nuts." She paused. "And now I'm talking to myself. That's just great." Glancing back at the radio, she decided it wasn't worth the aggravation just to fill the silence and went back to regarding the stack of files in her to be processed box.

"Damn reports." The thought prompted a glare toward her partner's empty chair. "And damn Stan and his damned take it or lose it vacation days. Why the hell didn't I wait to take a vacation during the winter?" Thinking back on her expedited escape and the reasoning she'd thought was sound at the time, Mary realized that losing the days would have been her safest bet. Instead she'd run off half-cocked for the sheer sake of running, and it had not been the wisest move. Life during the months since her return had been...tense at best.

"And damn Marshall for not knowing when to keep his damn mouth shut."

Part of her currently less than loved self-conscience chimed in with the thought, _Not that it's his fault I acted like an idiot. That one's all on me. _"Damn me, too, then."

With a huff she picked up her pen and signed off on the Gardiner file before reaching for the next folder on the stack.

Awhile later her phone buzzed and she quickly grabbed it to keep it from vibrating its way to the floor. Glancing at the screen, Mary sighed when she saw her sister's name. Brandi's first three calls had gone ignored; and, having no intention of answering this fourth, she pressed the button that would send it to voice mail. "Sorry, Squish. But, I am not up for presents, non-alcoholic eggnog and sober caroling."

Christmas Day. Even she realized that wanting to spend the day alone, and filling out reports no less, meant that there was something amiss. That did not mean, however, that she had to act on that knowledge, so a small mountain of backlogged paperwork was completed and filed over the course of the next several hours. The silence in the room broken only by the sound of the heat kicking on and off and the sound of her pen scratching paper. As she signed the last page, Mary glanced out the window at the darkening sky and wondered, not for the first time, if Marshall was enjoying the holiday with his new girlfriend's family. "Not that it matters." To which her inner voice chimed in, _No. Of course not. Doesn't matter at all._

Wondering how her own mind could spout sarcastic at her, Mary dropped the tower of files into Stan's in basket, grabbed her coat and left the office to go back to her too quiet house. A drink or three sounding better with each step.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

The next morning, the sun rising to brighten a cloud streaked sky woke Mary from her alcohol induced slumber on the couch. With a groan and a wish for death she turned her stiff neck to a position that resembled natural and attempted to swing one leg down off the back of the couch. A motion that was quickly aborted as the shift caused her eyes to find a stream of direct sunlight that seemed to pierce through her skull to bounce around joyfully behind her eyes. Allowing her head to fall back softly, Mary realized that there was a reason she usually didn't drink alone when emotionally off kilter.

"Damn alcohol."

_Right. Because it drank itself straight from the bottle._

"And damn me. Again."

_Damn straight._

"Shut the hell up." … "Jesus, now I'm freaking arguing with myself." She rolled slowly onto her side and sat up, dropping her now dangling foot to the floor. The room tilted, but righted itself instead of starting to swirl. "Progress. That's good."

She was just about ready to attempt raising her head off of her hands when the doorbell rang and someone began pounding on the door with a vengeance. The racket set off an echoing percussion section in her head, forcing a moan from her lips. "Stop. Please stop." Grabbing her head, Mary covered her ears in an attempt to dampen the noise, much like when she was a little girl. It didn't work in the slightest, so she forced herself to her feet and stumbled toward the racket. Yanking the door open, she mumbled, "Where's the mother-humping fire, Squish?"

Brandi huffed and pushed past her sister and into the house.

"Come in?"

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you since yesterday morning! I thought you were dead!"

Mary turned to find her baby sister standing a few feet away, hands on hips and scowling. Her posture reeked of attitude and, combined with the hangover and her generally dour mood, Mary snapped. Quietly.

"I'm sorry. I'd forgotten that I have to report in to you, Brandi. After all, you've always been the reliable one who was in charge of making sure her mother and sister were alive and well. So in order for you to feel that you've fulfilled your familial duties, be assured that I'm fine." She turned and pulled the front door open. "Now get the hell out of my house."

Jaw dropping, Brandi's eyes widened in shock. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Absolutely nothing once you get past the fact that I have a unwelcome guest standing in my home instead of exiting via the nearest door." She gestured toward said open door. "Now go. Back to Peter. Back to your happy, new life. Leave me alone."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Brandi walked into the living room and flopped down on the couch. "I said no." She leaned over and picked up the empty scotch bottle from the floor. With a cock of her head she stated, "Having a pity party for one, I see."

Mary slammed the door and stalked over to grab the bottle before turning to the kitchen. "What I do is none of your damn business, Squish. If I –"

"Like hell it's not!" Brandi jumped up and followed Mary. "Hasn't this gone on long enough? It was bad enough when you were only ignoring Marshall. But now you're not going to talk to your family? You missed Christmas! You've never abandoned me on Christmas!"

Dropping the bottle into the trash, Mary turned to the sink. Bracing her hands on the counter, she dropped her chin to her chest and willed the world to stop spinning. "I didn't abandon you, Squish. Good God. You had Mom and Peter there; it's not like you were alone. I just... I just couldn't... I couldn't be who you wanted me to be yesterday." She turned around and look her sister in the eye. "I needed to be by myself."

Shaking her head, Brandi took a step forward as though to give her a hug but stopped when Mary backed into the counter and crossed her arms tight across her chest. "Mary –"

"Don't."

With a sigh Brandi took that last step closer and placed her hand on her sister's arm. "Look. I know that I'm not the wise, older sibling. And I know that I've been a fuck up most of my life. But I'd like to think that I've learned a thing or two over the past couple years about being a good person." No response. "You're hurting, and that hurts me. It hurts anyone who cares about you. Would you please just go work it out with him?"

Against her will, a single tear slipped our to dampen her lashes. "Yeah. Like he wants that." Blinking rapidly, Mary looked up. "Besides, I can't. He's in California with _Sophia_. And since he left without saying goodbye, I'm fairly certain that a call from me is the last thing on his Christmas list."

Brandi's face scrunched up in confusion, but her tone was definitely, "He's not out of town."

"Yes. He is."

"No. He's not."

"Yes..." Mary stopped herself and sighed. "They left last week and won't come back until Wednesday."

Crossing her arms, Brandi trotted out her stubborn face. "You're wrong."

"Jesus, Squish, I think I know when my partner is out of state!"

"Well apparently not, because Peter and I ran into him at the mall on Christmas Eve."

Mary's head snapped up, and she ignored the slight wave of nausea the sudden movement caused. "What?"

"Yeah. We talked for a few minutes about our plans before he said he had to get going." Brandi shrugged. "But he was definitely _not_ in California. And he was definitely alone." She watched as her sister's mouth opened and then closed without making a sound. "I can't believe he didn't tell you."

Thinking back upon months of awkward silences and forced work related only talk, Mary turned back to the window and replied, "I can."

"Mary..."

With a swipe at her eyes, Mary pivoted out of Brandi's reach and crossed the room to once again open the door. "Squish, would you please just go."

"I really think I should –"

"Look, I feel like shit and even I can smell that I need a shower." She looked up, game face on. "I don't say please often. Just go back home, and I'll call you later." Seeing that that wasn't working, she pulled out the big guns. "Maybe we can all get together tomorrow or something for dinner. To make up for yesterday."

With a sigh Brandi realized that she wasn't going to get anywhere by forcing the situation, so she moved to leave. But before shutting the door, she paused long enough to say, "I know you like to handle things on your own, but I _am_ your sister. If you need me, you know where to find me. Okay?" Closing the door softly, Brandi walked out to her car and drove a block or two before pulling over to make a call.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning fought the dawn, gray clouds covering all but the thinnest slivers of golden sky. The local weatherman was calling for unnaturally low temperatures, but Mary didn't care. Her world had been chilly since her return from Mexico. Grabbing her thickest socks, she slumped onto the edge of the bed and pulled them on, remembering her reception upon her return. Stan had been his normal, faux-clueless self, but she'd seen the looks he cast from between the blinds in his office. Charlie didn't walk so much as slink around, continuously glancing from her to Marshall then back while trying not to draw attention to himself. And, Marshall... Marshall was unfailingly polite and professional. He didn't joke or tease. Didn't snark or growl. And he hadn't since her return. He'd been dating Sophia for over two months before she had found out, and when she did...

Shaking off that train of thought, Mary jammed her feet into her boots. _I don't have anyone to blame but mydamnself, so I might as well move on. He certainly has. _ Not that she would allow herself to contemplate the mythical whateveritwas that he had left behind but was suddenly too terrifying for her to abandon. That entire line of thought was closed behind a cast iron door that was both padlocked and barred.

With a huff of annoyance at herself, Mary unconsciously continued her morning routine. Coffee. Badge. Coat. Keys. Ready to go, Mary turned off the light and contemplated the beautifully remodeled but lifeless house. As she had every morning for months, she decided that they were a good fit and walked out the door to face another day.

It wasn't until she pulled into her parking space that she realized the space to her right was occupied by Marshall's SUV. In her surprise, she nearly ran over the car stop and had to slam on the breaks. As it was, the front undercarriage hit it with a screech of metal on concrete that made her cringe. Backing up slightly, she threw the car into park and paused with her hand on the keys. Brandi was right. Her partner was back and hadn't told her. Preferred to, apparently, spend the holiday alone instead of deeming her worthy of knowing. "He didn't even call." Somehow, that simple non-act pierced her shell of indifference with more surgical precision than the preceding months of civil silence. It took three gasping breaths before she could approach the illusion of normal breathing. Three more allowed her to control the gasping. But she knew in that moment that all of the breaths in the world weren't going to take away the pain that was searing through her chest. _I did this. __I__ caused this__. _

_Oh my God. What did I do?_

Mary didn't know what to do with the emotions that were suddenly boiling over. "I can't do this. I can't." She threw the car into reverse and peeled back, barely missing the minivan parked in the space behind her. Spinning the wheel she hit the gas and flew out of the lot via the entrance because it was just a little closer than the exit. When she hit the street, she turned into the flow of traffic on pure instinct and drove, ignoring the chorus of horns she left in her wake. With no destination other than away in mind, she hit the gas and streaked through the next light as it turned red overhead.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

From the top floor of the Sunshine Building, Marshall watched as Mary pulled into her spot. He was about to go back to his desk and begin his now habitual show of feigned placidity when her car suddenly backed out of the spot, shot across the lot and swerved onto the street. _What the...? _He watched her drive away until his view was cut off by the windowsill. Turning back to the office, he glanced at Stan's dark office and wondered what was going on. Not only with Mary this morning, but with his life in general.

_When did I lose control?_ He shook his head. _Scratch that. Why did I allow... _Even in his own mind, he hesitated to put it into words. _...that one incident to lead to all of this? _He, a man driven to understand anything and everything around him, to maneuver and plan so that the pieces landed where he willed had been reduced to living his life reactively. Adrift within an emotional vortex without sight of rescue or a steadying line to grab and hold. Mary's decision to hare off to Mexico had broken something deep within him. Some foundation upon which he'd built the castle of cards that was their partnership, their relationship, cracked and shifted. The damage was, he thought, irreparable. So, while she was gone, he steeled himself to move on with her in but not part of his future life. They were partners. Period. That was obviously all to which she was willing to commit, so he had to accept it. Or so he'd thought. What he hadn't counted on was the number of ways that he unconsciously and instinctively leaned her direction outside of work. So many times while she was gone, something would happen and he would immediately grab his phone to text or dial her number. Each time he had to stop himself the cracks in that foundation split a little wider. By the time she'd returned, too quiet and apprehensive, he'd convinced himself that he needed as clean a break as he could manage without destroying the partnership that was the crowning achievement of both of their careers.

It hadn't been easy, and he had, in fact, found that he needed to fight himself every step of the way. It wasn't hard to be professional at work. That he managed as naturally as breathing. What was hard was learning only to be professional. The urge was always there, lurking under the surface, to fall into their past comfortable banter. To catch her eye in silent communication. To feel concern as the shadows under her eyes darkened and her hands jittered due to an obvious lack of sleep. To pull her into a hug and never let go every time he caught her looking his way with eyes that screamed her knowledge of the reason for her loss and the accompanying regret that she never voiced.

With a sigh, Marshall rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. That last was always the worst. Those nearly untameable urges to wrap his arms around her and tell her that it would all be okay. To prove, once and for all, that he wouldn't abandon her to her fate as she had always feared. To show that, no matter what, he loved her more than he valued his own peace of mind. And it was always that last thought that stopped him from moving toward her. That kept him rooted to whatever patch of land happened to be stable beneath his feet. He couldn't lose himself to a woman who didn't want to lose herself to him in return.

So began the debacle that he called his recent social life. Deciding that in order to really move on he would need to focus his wants elsewhere, he'd made it a point to chat up women in his various and varied haunts. Classes. The library. Coffee bars. The museum. It was there that he'd met Sophia after a particularly harrowing witness transfer. The witness at his destination unscathed, but Mary had been superficially injured; and watching her unconscious body hit the ground and be still had nearly been Marshall's undoing. But, he'd sucked it up, made sure that she received the proper treatment and that the witness was safe before casually checking in with Stan and taking his leave. After that, meeting Sophia Mitchell, an elegant and intelligent accountant who was interested in art and music, seemed like a godsend. She was knowledgeable, funny and emotionally stable. He enjoyed her company immensely, and they took to spending more evenings than not together. Watching tv. Going to the movies or a play. Reading to each other from a favorite childhood novel. It was easy to fall in like with her mind, and her body made it even easier to fall in lust. But that last vital step continued to allude him; a fact that was brought home with a vengeance when she dragged him to California to visit her family for the holidays.

They were nearly a week into the trip, and all had been going fairly well. Her family seemed to approve of him, and he found their company engaging for the most part. They were a bit on the elitist side for his tastes; but no one was perfect, and he figured he was being overly critical. However, the night before Christmas Eve, it all fell apart. And all because of a seemingly flip question asked by Sophia's father.

They'd left the playhouse and stopped for coffee before heading back to the family's condo, which was located in one of the trendier sections of San Diego. During the walk they passed by a homeless man on a street corner, rare for that part of town. He reeked of alcohol, but Marshall stopped to slip the man a $20 anyway and asked if he wanted a cab to get to a shelter for the night. When he'd caught up to rest of the party, he didn't take notice of the odd looks cast his way.

It wasn't until they were back in the Mitchell's sitting room, wine glasses in hand, that the conversation began. Richard, Sophia's father, made a comment about having plans to call one of his friends at the police station the next day to ask why they were becoming lax about taking care of the vagrant population. It was then that he had asked Marshall what had possessed him to give money to a worthless alcoholic when all it would do is encourage the scum to stay in their neighborhood in an effort to obtain larger handouts. It was the word "worthless" that caught Marshall's attention, but it was the similar looks of pity for the gullible expressed by all of the faces in the room that hit him like a punch to the gut. With that look they proved that they all innately believed the man out on the street was beneath attention and concern. Someone to be pitied? Maybe, if he hadn't been drunk. Someone to be scorned? Obviously. But someone to whom they should attempt to relate to in a manner that would imply they cared? Don't be silly.

Marshall was stunned. These people were just the sort who would look at Jinx and assume she was nothing but a drunk even though she was now working, attending regular AA meetings and living a healthier life. These people would look at Brandi's past and brand her a drug-addicted trouble maker with no future worth supporting. These people would look at Mary and see only a checkered past marked by unfortunate family connections and label her trash. He didn't belong in that house with those people. With the woman who, in the months that they had been together, he'd never realized was the type of woman who would look down upon people he called friends. How had he not known? _Because_, his mind had supplied,_ you abandoned those friends in your effort to live a new life_.

And that thought begged the question of which of them, then, was the worse person. The woman who wouldn't be willing to give someone a chance to better herself or the man who watched that same person better herself and then walked away when she slipped upon the greasy residue of her past.

Certain that he wouldn't come out the better in the debate, he'd quickly realized that he needed to take steps to right the situation. Starting with getting out of that house. He had pulled Sophia aside and made quick work of both a break-up and an apology. He stopped to thank her parents for allowing him to visit, and then he'd packed his things and left...

The rattle of the elevator doors opening pulled Marshall from his reverie, and he had just enough time to sit up in his chair and look toward the door before Stan swiped his card and entered the office.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

Stan jumped sideways and nearly dropped his coffee when, from the edge of his vision, he caught the unexpected movement at Marshall's desk. Righting the cup to keep it from dribbling over his glove, he turned and looked his supposedly vacationing Inspector in the eye before asking, "What are you doing here? Go home for two more days." He then turned to open his office door. As he placed the cup on his desk and pulled the scarf from around his neck, he heard the roll of Marshall's chair as he stood up.

"It's good to see you, too, Chief. Happy Holidays."

With a sigh, Stan unbuttoned his coat and hung it upon the coat rack before responding. "Marshall, it _is_ good to see you. But you're not supposed to be here. So, leave, find your girlfriend and spend a few more days on vacation. Like you're scheduled to do."

"I don't think that's the best plan, Stan."

Walking around the desk and taking a seat, the boss tilted his chair back and took a good look at his Marshal. The tired posture was nothing new, but the look of resolve in his eyes was promising. Thinking back to the phone call he'd received from Brandi, a suspicion took root in his mind. _I wonder..._

"I take it the familial visitation didn't go as planned?"

Marshall snorted and sat down across from the man he considered to be his boss, mentor and friend. "You could say that."

Stan only raised a brow.

"Let's just say that I won't be needing those last two vacation days anymore. So, here I am. Ready and willing to work. And since my partner is nowhere to be seen, I think you might appreciate it if I stayed."

Busying himself with turning on his computer, Stan distractedly supplied the information for which Marshall was fishing, "True. Mary did call in sick. But she assured me that all of your and her witnesses had been visited within days before Christmas and that every report was already completed and awaiting review. So, unless something happens, I think I've got it all under control." He looked up and caught Marshall's eye. "Go home."

Processing the information provided in those few sentences, Marshall took a moment to respond. "Mary called in sick?" Stan nodded. "And between witness visits leading up to Christmas and today, all of the reports for all of our witnesses were completed." Nod. "By _Mary_." Another nod. "That doesn't sound right"

"Agreed. But seeing as how there aren't any files on either of your desks while there's an entire stack on mine, I've got to assume she was telling the truth. And, given that that leaves you with nothing on your to do list, I'd suggest you take those two vacation days and use them as you see fit."

"But –"

"Leave, Marshall."

The stern tone left no room room for further argument, and Stan watched as Marshall hesitantly stood to leave the office.

"Are you sure, because –"

"Marshall!"

"Okay. Okay."

With that the taller man walked out of Stan's office and went about signing off of his computer and tidying his already neat desk before putting on his own coat and scarf. Just as he was reaching for the door handle, Stan called out to him.

"Take chicken soup."

Marshall pulled up short and looked at him. "Huh?"

"Take chicken soup." Incomprehension was not an expression he was accustomed to seeing on the tall man's face. "To your partner." Staring down at his boots like that made Marshall look like a little kid who wasn't sure how to tell his parents that he'd broken the living room lamp playing baseball inside, so Stan continued hoping to put him out of his misery. "Look, I know that you two have been going through a bit of a rough patch." He ignored Marshall's huff. "But, obviously, something's changed. So, pick up some chicken soup and head over to her house. Provide a little comfort, and – heaven forbid – if all goes well you might even try talking to each other like adults."

"What if she doesn't want me there?"

The uncertainty didn't fit with the image he'd formed of his Inspector, but Stan knew that after everything they'd been putting each other through it was a distinct possibility. So, with a shrug, Stan looked at the stack of files and back to Marshall. "Then the chicken soup will serve as an icebreaker." He shooed him away. "You're never going to find out if you don't get going. So, go. Get outta my hair."

With a reluctant chuckle, Marshall supplied the expected response. "But, you don't have any –"

"Inspector!"

"Right." He paused long enough that Stan looked up. When he did, Marshall continued. "And thank you."

"You're welcome." Then, he watched with more concern than he was showing as one of his two "kids" walked out of the office, hesitant to meet his fate.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

As Marshall exited the building, he tightened his scarf and pulled gloves from his pockets. To his amazement, snow was falling softly to the ground and actually resting on any available surface; and while snow wasn't completely uncommon, it was rarely cold enough for it to stick. However, it looked like it might plan to do just that.

_Good thing Mary did go home. That car of hers might look pretty, but I bet it's a bitch to drive in the snow. Rear wheel drive is not winter weather friendly._

Reaching into the SUV, he turned it on and cranked the heat before opening the back to grab his ice scraper/snowbrush. He made his way around, sweeping the snow from all of the windows before climbing into the now cheerfully warm vehicle and making his way from the lot. Carefully watching for drivers who weren't sure of how to handle the slick of snow covered roads, he cautiously made his way to Mary's favorite diner for a to go bowl of chicken soup. And, since he sincerely doubted that she was actually sick, he also picked up a meatloaf platter for her and a roasted chicken platter for himself. Then, with a deep breath to steady his nerves, he set out to a house that he hadn't visited since before Mary's ill-fated trip south of the border.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary was standing in the kitchen, watching snow fall into the pool, when there was knock at the door. Not expecting anyone, and in a decidedly more self-preserving frame of mind that she had been the day before, she walked quietly over to stand to the side of the door before calling, "Who is it?"

"It's me."

Mary inhaled sharply at the sound of her partner's voice and mumbled, "I must be hearing things." A little louder, "Marshall?"

"I've only been gone a week, Mar, and you've already forgotten the sound of my voice? Harsh."

_Hearing things and hallucinating. Marshall hasn't made wisecracks at my expense in months. _Swinging the door open, Mary fought not to gape outright. He was really there. On her doorstep. "Marshall. What are you –" She stopped as he held up the plastic bag with their diner's logo.

"Stan said you were sick. Thought I'd bring over some food. Make sure you have everything you need." He looked down and glanced up, but did not meet her gaze. "Is that okay?"

Her feet moved before she could give it conscious thought, creating space for him to enter. It was an invitation that he quickly accepted, as though afraid she'd change her mind and slam the door in his face. As he swept past she closed the door, but couldn't force herself to follow him into the kitchen. She simply watched as he placed the bag on the counter and started opening cabinets and drawers like it were still normal for him to be there rooting through her things. He puttered around until he'd arranged the food on plates and had gathered silverware and drinks. The sight made her heart ache and, once again, salt-water pricked at the corners of her eyes. _God, when did I become such a crybaby? Jesus, I'm pathetic. _But the thought didn't stop the tears or the hitch in her suddenly too rapid breathing. Especially when she saw that he'd taken the time to not only buy chicken soup and food but had apparently hit a grocery store to grab orange juice and those oyster crackers that she likes so much, probably knowing she wouldn't have any in the house. _He remembered. _After the past few months and the thought that he had truly forsaken any thought of their friendship...

And just like that, after months of forced self-denial, her brain allowed her to feel how much she had missed him in her life. How much she had missed her best friend.

Realizing that he was still alone in the room, Marshall looked back toward the door in time to catch his partner wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Taking a step in that direction, he asked, "Mar?"

She opened her mouth, but no words emerged as she attempted to strangle the wail that had worked its way into her throat. Arms crossed tightly over her stomach, the near physical ache in her chest caused her to hunch over slightly before she raised her right hand to cover her mouth, still trying to swallow the sob she felt creeping closer to escape. Shaking her head Mary turned away from the kitchen, her only avenue of hiding from the familiar blue gaze now riveted on her shaking form. _Please not now_, she begged of herself._ Don't break down now. _

Given their recent history she expected him to distance himself until she could pull herself together, so it was a shock when she felt his hand grip her shoulder with just enough pressure to turn her body toward his. When his arms circled her shoulders to draw her into his chest, the tenuous leash that she had on her emotions snapped. Wrapping her arms around his waist she held on for dear life, terrified that he would change his mind and let go.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

Marshall wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but Mary holding onto him with all of her strength hadn't been an option on the list. But now that she was... He squeezed her tighter and wrapped one arm around her, holding her close while his other hand reached up to tangle in her hair and press her head against his chest. Dropping his cheek to the top of her head he continued to hold on, fearing she would come to her senses and push him away. But, she didn't. She held onto him like he was her only lifeline and cried as she had when he had confronted her about her father. Except that this time, the tears were because of his own actions.

Closing his eyes against the pain, he planted a kiss in her hair and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He continued with murmured apologies and promises until he felt her breathing temper itself to normal. And when she started to pull back he loosened his grip, but couldn't bring himself to let go. It may have been minutes or hours, but he eventually felt her tilt her head up and, fearing the recrimination he would find, he finally looked down to meet her gaze for the first time in far too long. In the green brown of her eyes he saw many things, but the hatred he had feared wasn't one of them. Neither was the blame. What was there he couldn't even begin to describe, but he knew that they might yet have a chance to fix the damage that had been done.

Reaching up with the lightest of touches, he brushed away the trails left by her tears and bent down to place another soft kiss on the top of her head. Leaning a little further back he was able to bend his forehead to hers and nuzzle her nose with his until she smiled.

"We're not Eskimos, doofus."

Once again pulling her close, he tucked her head under his chin and grinned. It had been far too long, and he simply couldn't resist. "Actually, what is commonly known as an Eskimo kiss is a misrepresentation of the Inuit practice of greeting loved ones with a kunik which involves one person placing their nose and upper lip against the forehead or cheek of the second person. The first person breathes in causing –"

"Marshall?"

"Yes?" Expecting a familiar rebuke, his smile widened.

"Don't stop ever stop talking to me again."

Now it was his turn for a hint of tears. With a sniff, Marshall pulled back to look her in the eye. "I promise if you do."

She nodded and reached up to wipe her sleeve across her nose, shrugging as he made a face. "What? Should I have used your sleeve? Because the tissues are in the kitchen with the food."

Sighing, Marshall pulled back enough to turn them both toward sustenance, but he kept her body tight against his with an arm around her shoulder. He was afraid she would object when she looked up at him, gaze assessing; but, she just put her arm around his waist and bumped her hip against his to throw his steps out of sync. He recovered, but only after knocking his knee into the wall. With a curse and hop-skip, he caught up to her strides, thinking that this was the way it should always be.

"Mar?"

"Yeah?"

He tightened his grip and said, "Don't run again. If you want me to talk, you have to stay to listen."

She looked down, guilt for what she had done to them once again rising to the surface. She didn't realize he'd stopped until she was a half step past him and his arm loosened to let her go. Not wanting to lose contact, she adjusted her forward motion into a turn to face him. "Okay."

He nodded. "Okay. Now let's reheat the food so we can eat." Reluctantly, he dropped his arm and walked around the counter to grab her plate. "What do you want first? The soup or meatloaf?"

She moved to join him and leaned against the counter to watch him work. "Soup. Then meatloaf." As he popped the bowl into the microwave, she said, "And Marshall?" After he had started the timer and turned his attention her way she continued with every ounce of sincerity that she could muster, "I'm sorry that I –"

"Hey, none of that." He reached out to run one long finger down the hair framing her face.

"But, this is all my fault. If I hadn't –"

He placed the finger against her lips. "No. No blame. No looking back." He quirked half a smile. "From here on out we only move forward."

The microwaved beeped, and he turned to it only after she nodded her agreement with his terms. After replacing the bowl with her plate, he popped open the bag of crackers and dumped in a handful before sliding it to her.

"But what if –"

"Hush."

She picked up the spoon and held it hovering over the bowl. "But –"

He grabbed the spoon from her hand, loaded it with crackers and shoved it into her mouth. "Stop. I have no intentions of _ever_ living my life without you again." He hesitated before asking, "Do you?"

She shook her head, spoon still sticking out of her mouth like a thermometer.

Marshall chuckled. "Okay then."

He turned once again to the microwave to flip flop plates and then turned to hand her the meatloaf platter. "We're agreed." At her nod, he said, "'If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.'"

Nodding her understanding, she turned to grab a tissue instead of abusing her sleeve again. When she turned back around he was pulling his food from the microwave and placing it on the place mat beside hers. As he added more crackers to her bowl, she asked, "Another one of your hereto unknown philosophers?"

He smiled and pushed a fork around to stir his vegetables. "Nope." When she tilted her head in inquiry, he grinned. "Winnie the Pooh."

She nearly spat her soup back into the bowl and needed to use her sleeve to keep the dribble on her chin from dripping to the floor. When she had everything under control she found his mischievous expression to be just what she needed.

"That's one smart, fictional bear."

He nodded his agreement, and they went about the rest of their meal in companionable silence.


	4. Chapter 4

An hour later they were camped out on the couch, watching the snow that was now falling heavily outside. Marshall had tucked himself into the corner with his legs stretched across the cushions and had pulled Mary to sit against him when she'd walked over, so he felt her sigh before she said, "I'd forgotten how pretty trees look when it snows."

"What was it like?"

A questioning glance accompanied, "What was what like?"

Mary felt him shrug as he answered, "Any of it. Whatever part you might want to tell me."

"Okay." She wriggled to get more comfortable and ended up with her head on his shoulder and his arm draped down her side, fingers tangled loosely with her own. "I mostly remember the cold. We didn't always have heat, so we lugged this ancient kerosene heater around with us whenever we had to move." She shivered at the memory, and his arm tightened around her. "But I've always thought that snow is pretty. I know that doesn't sound like me, but it's... It just coats everything and makes even the dumpiest of neighborhoods seem clean, you know? Or, at least it seemed that way when I was younger."

"I remember one winter we were living in this crappy tenement building in Trenton. Mom had gotten a job in some play. Surprisingly, she actually went in most days and I was working around school, so we had heat and electricity all winter." She drifted off, but quickly shook her head. "Anyway, Brandi wanted to go sled riding, but we didn't have a sled. I tried to put her off, but this freak blizzard blew through the area. Everything closed down, and there was nothing to see but snow. They couldn't even plow out the cars parked on the streets because they ran out of places to put the stuff."

Marshall interrupted. "I think I remember seeing news stories about that. Didn't they end up hauling it out to the suburbs in dump trucks?"

She nodded, and some of her hair got caught up in the buttons of his shirt. He carefully extracted the fragile strands as she continued the story. "So, anyway, Squish wouldn't stop whining about going sledding down the hill in the park. It got to the point that I asked all of the neighbors that we actually knew if they had a sled that we could borrow. They all said no of course, but Brandi just wouldn't let it go. It was all I heard, day and night for a week."

With a wince Marshall asked, "So what did you do?"

"I told you that Jinx was in a play." She felt him nod and continued with a chuckle, "Well, Jinx being Jinx, she was more than a bit friendly with the prop master. Turns out that they had used real sleds in some sort of musical the year before, so she shows up at the door with this guy, and they're towing this ghastly sled behind them." She started to laugh. "Marshall, I'm telling you. The thing was hideous. Bright red and yellow and blue with painted gold and green striped rails. It even had tiny, little bells running the length of each side! I'd never seen anything so horrific in my life." With a dramatic sigh she revealed, "Squish, of course, loved the damn thing on sight. I was appalled at the idea of taking it out in public."

Marshall couldn't blame her, but felt the need to ask, "So did you?"

"Of course I did!" She smacked him on the leg with her free hand, offended that he would doubt her.

He grabbed the violence-prone hand and pulled it up across her stomach, keeping it covered with his own. "Hey! Keep it up and I'll report that to Stan as partner abuse!"

A snort declared what she thought of his threat.

Hands still holding hers, he crossed their arms in an almost hug, suddenly struck by everything that they hadn't been to one another in the preceding months. "I missed you, you know." He dropped a kiss on her hair. "You have no idea how hard it was to stay away."

She stiffened, and he tightened his grip in case she tried to get up. "I thought we were looking forward, not back."

He shrugged. "I'm fickle."

Moving to the side, she forced him to loosen his grip so she could turn to face him. When he tightened his hands on hers, she squeezed back. "I'm not going anywhere. I just want to see you." He allowed her room to turn, but the doubtful expression didn't change. "Promise."

A deep breath later, Marshall forced himself to release the death grip that he had on her fingers and turned against he arm of the sofa, leaning back to give her more room.

Once she settled, feet up and toes tucked under his legs to keep them warm, she waited for him to continue. When he didn't say anything more, she spoke first. "So why did you?"

He looked away, out the window to watch the drifting snow. "I had to. … Or, I thought that I had to." A glance at her and then away again. "When you left, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. When I found out that you were in Mexico with..._him_...I felt..." A rueful smile. "Let's just say that the thoughts of what I wanted to do were neither respectable nor honorable. And then it hit me that you would rather be anywhere with that... Well, anywhere but with me."

"That wasn't –"

"Let me finish." She nodded with reluctance. "Your true intentions, whatever they may have been, don't really factor into my response. All I had to go on was what I perceived to be as the reasoning for your reaction. And all factors pointed to you wanting to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. It seemed fairly obvious, and this may or may not be true, that you were trying to turn me down without needing to actually do or say anything about it."

"But –"

"Be quiet." He covered her mouth when she opened it to continue. "You'll get your chance. And, besides, it's not like you need to say anything at all. This part is about me and only me. Okay?" She glared from behind the hand still held over her mouth, but nodded. Again with obvious reluctance. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "It may have been spur of the moment and entirely unplanned, but I had put myself out there." He was still watching and saw her brow crinkle. "Or, maybe I just thought I had. Either way, over the years I had put together this mental list of reactions that would seem to have a reasonably high potential for occurring. And, yes, you running away was one of them. But, you left without a word in response. There was no outrage. No disgust. No surprise. No pity. Just an 'I'm thinking" and then nothing." He fidgeted and ended up with his hands curled tightly together, knuckles strained and white. "To me it appeared that... That you didn't care enough to respond." His glance stopped her interruption. "So, with that thought in mind... Well, let's just say that I was suddenly very sure that we weren't at all on the same page and that I needed to find some way to reconcile myself with your decision. I needed to move on, Mar; and, I couldn't do that with you at my side." Dropping his head back, he closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.

It didn't come.

"Is it my turn, now?" At his surprised nod, she said, "Good." And then she smacked him hard upside the head. "You idiot!"

Wide-eyed, Marshall rubbed his now aching ear. "Ow?"

"Well, damn it, Marshall! What did you expect?" She shot off the couch and started to pace back and forth. "You honestly thought that I didn't care?" At his shrug she looked like she was going to his him again, and he pulled back. "Oh, stop being a pansy and trying to crawl over the back of the couch. I'm not going to hurt you. Much." She flopped back to her place in front of him. "You scared the living shit out of me. What did you think I would do? Jump up from my desk, declare my undying love and lay one on you for all the office to see?"

With a wince, he admitted, "That _would _have been a pleasant surprise."

"Idiot." She bopped him again for good measure before taking a deep breath. _This is the hard part._ "It's not like I haven't thought about it." Ignoring his sharp intake of breath, she went on, "And it's certainly not that I don't have...possible leanings...toward feelings...maybe." Not wanting to look at him, she stood up and walked over to the window, standing close enough that her breath fogged the glass. Staring at the blurry globs of snow as they fell, she realized that she wanted to reclaim that hopeful feeling that had been lost in her youth. A hope represented by fresh air and sparkling white beginnings.

Turning toward the hall, she said "I'll be right back; I have to change. Get your coat."

Startled by her sudden shift in thought and mood, Marshall couldn't even utter the "What?" in his head before hearing her bedroom door close behind her. Looking between the window and the hall, he admitted defeat when it came to following her train of thought and got up to put on his coat, anxious to find out what she had in mind and where it would lead.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary closed the door to her room and leaned back to rest against the warm wood for a moment, thinking back to the bleak start to her day. And now... _Second chances. Just like those snow covered neighborhoods back home._

Quickly slipping out of her ratty, old sweats she redressed in jeans and a warm sweater. Once again putting on a warm pair of socks she stuffed her feet into one of her few wardrobe leftovers from her Jersey days, fur-lined boots. They were scuffed and worn but served their purpose just the same. Grabbing coat and gloves, she opened the door and walked out to find Marshall waiting for her at the entrance to the hall.

She slipped on her jacket and gloves before walking to the door. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

"In this?" His look said she'd lost her mind.

"Yes, Miss Fussy." Mary challenged, "What? You afraid you'll melt if your hair gets wet?"

He sneered before walking over and holding the door, sweeping a bow to usher her out into the cold, snowy weather.

"So where to my Snow Queen?" They reached the end of the driveway. "Left or right?"

She shrugged. "Left. Trying to be right never works out for me."

Feeling brave, he grabbed her gloved hand with his own. "Left it is."

They walked for blocks in silence, Mary trying to gather her thoughts and Marshall wondering at their content.

It wasn't until they reached a desolate park almost a mile away that she stopped. Wiping off a spot on top of a picnic table, she stepped onto the bench before turning to sit down. Hands still clasped, Marshall moved to stand against her, offering warmth, support, anything she was willing to accept from him.

Mary looked around the park; there wasn't another soul in sight. The swing set and jungle gym were coated in snow. The fountain gurgled away with no one around to enjoy the sound. And it was cold.

"This is how I've felt the last few months." She gestured with her hand, encompassing the empty space that was meant to be enjoyed and full of cheerful play. "Quiet. Cold. Lonely." She couldn't look at him. "I spent so much time wishing that everyone would just leave me alone. Then my mother moved out. Squish moved out." Wish a rueful smile she admitted, "I was fine with that, actually. But... Then you disappeared without ever leaving." Her voice became harsh, brittle. "They say that you should watch what you wish for, and man does learning that lesson ever suck. I was finally alone, but after you... I found myself wanting the warmth that was missing to come back."

She looked over at the swings, still under small piles of snow. She briefly wondered if they creaked when they moved or if they were maintained with the care that allowed kids to soar higher and higher without worry or fear. "I realize that I caused all of this." She glanced at him sharply, so he didn't speak. "I did. And you did what you needed to do for yourself, which was only right." Looking at their joined hands, she rubbed her thumb down his gloved finger. "And if you decide at the end of today that you need to go back to the way it's been, I won't blame you. But I need you to understand why I did what I did."

"You don't need to explain anything."

"I do." She finally met his gaze before glancing away. "For once in my life I want to explain myself, my actions, to someone so that they can understand instead of needing to guess. I want you to be the person with whom I can share..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "...everything."

Marshall, afraid that any sound would break the spell of honesty that had fallen over his partner, his friend, stood silent. When she hesitated, he squeezed her hand in encouragement.

"You, better than anyone, know that I don't let people get close to me. I don't trust. I don't open up. I do my best, in my personal life, not to care." She swept her gaze over the bleak playground before turning back to him. "'Be the strong one.' 'You're the rock they lean on.' 'Take care of your mom and sister.' Those are all phrases I've read and repeated over and over again." She caught his knowing look and with a sigh promised to explain in more detail later. "I tried, Marshall. I really tried. I gave, and I sacrificed. I focused on their happiness and neglected my own for so long, but they were never happy. Never satisfied. No matter what I did I just couldn't _please_ either of them. And all that time I received letter after letter telling me that I needed to keep them safe and make sure they were okay. No matter how much I did, it was never enough! 'Mary, I need this.' 'Mary, you have to do that.'" She shook her head. "It was never ending. And somewhere along the way, I started to associate love and family with that sense of...overwhelming responsibility and demanded self-sacrifice."

"Do you remember when we first met, how I didn't take my sister's calls and said that I wouldn't give Jinx my phone number?" At Marshall's nod, she went on, "I'd left them hanging for six months. Six whole months of my life that I hadn't devoted to them." She raised a gloved hand to move a damp strand of hair from her face. "For those six months I was free to do what I wanted when I wanted. It was exhilarating. … And I was miserable."

Marshall broke his silence to ask, "Why?"

"Because I knew... I just _knew_ that I was disappointing my dad by neglecting them. That by leaving them to their own devices, I had abandoned them just as surely as he had."

"Mar..."

Self-depreciation was a rare expression for her. "I know. In my head I realize just how ridiculous that sounds. But, in my heart? It was killing me." She covered his one hand with both of hers. "And then you came along. Marshal Marshall of Wimpsec. And, unknowingly, you offered me a way out. A way to live a life for myself guilt free. If I were transferred, surely Daddy couldn't blame me for Squish and Mom having to live on their own, right? So I jumped at the chance to move here. I mean, in three days on the road you hadn't run screaming or even once tried to get in my pants, so I figured we might even be able to work together. And if I had to spend my days dealing with whiny, needy people... Well, hell, I was used to that already!"

"But then the most amazing thing happened. We became friends. I hadn't planned it or tried for it. It was like one morning I had a partner that drove me slightly crazy and the next... I had you standing beside me, offering support, providing help. And I wanted you there. I wanted to let go of it all and let someone else, you, take on my life for me." She looked back to him. "And that terrified me. I had never had a real friend. Hell, growing up I'd barely had time for friendly acquaintances. I didn't know what to do...with you...with me. I just knew that it felt so amazingly _good_, and that that somehow made it all the more frightening."

"How come?"

"Don't know." Mary shook her head at her own confusion. "Maybe it was because it was a new feeling for me. Maybe it was because I'd never before allowed anyone to take care of anything for me. Maybe it was because I thought that by leaning on you, I'd disappoint my dad by not being self-reliant enough." Her head repeated it's negative swing. "I can't explain it, but I know that the fear latched on and wouldn't let go."

"Then my mother came squealing back into my life, and Squish showed up for a visit that never ended; and I fell into my old habits of doing whatever I needed to do and using whomever I needed to use in order to make their lives easier." She dropped his hand and slid off of the table and started to pace. "And you ended up being dragged along in the wake of our dirty laundry and self-obsession." She turned to face him from too many feet away. "And do you want to know the worst part?"

Tilting his head in inquiry, Marshall asked, "What?"

"I still wanted you there. You made my life easier by being the me in our relationship. I had turned into what I hated, a woman who used someone that she should care about and value. A woman who took everything another person had to give and more, simply because he couldn't bring himself to say no." When he started to object, she cut him off. "That's exactly how it happened. Hell, I encouraged you! Just like with my family, I gave just enough back to make you give even more. But, unlike them, I _recognized_ it for what it was and didn't try to stop it, which made me an even more selfish bitch than either of them have ever been."

"Mar –"

"No; don't try to protect me from the truth. But, what separates me from them in the negative also separates me from them in the positive; because I was and am able to recognize just how much you do for me. I realize that I've brushed you off, ignored you and downright abused you. I know that without you, I would probably be sitting in jail alongside my sister right now. If I'd even made it that far."

"Marshall, in the midst of everything that was happening I also managed to acknowledge, at least to myself, some of the reasons for why you were doing all that you did for me. And with each act of kindness, a little check mark was placed into a column labeled 'Debt to Marshall that can never be repaid'."

"I didn't do anything with an expectation of payback, Mar."

"I know." Her mouth quirked in a grin. "It would have been a helluva lot easier if you were like other men. One roll in the sack, and we'd have been even."

He snorted. "You never know. It might have worked."

"Ha! You're too much of a boyscout for that." Her smile faded. "You were kind to me because that is what's in your heart. And you didn't expect anything in return because this is how you were raised. But, I expected to keep us even for myself. And the longer it went on, the more unbalanced that mental ledger became. And the more I felt indebted to you, the worse I acted.; because try as I might, I couldn't stop feeling like I was more of a leech than my mother and sister combined."

"Then Raph came along, and I thought, 'This is perfect! Here's a guy who's willing to take my shit in exchange for sex!' With Raph there, I could stop draining you to dregs. If it looked like I had a life, you would surely go out and find someone better than me to dote upon. Someone who appreciated you and was willing to show it. But, you didn't." She said him open his mouth to object, and spoke over him, "Alright. There were dates, but you and I both know that they were token efforts at best." She glared at him until he nodded.

"So there I was, trapped in a house with three people that I didn't want near me and in the office with the one person that I wanted to push away and keep all at the same time." Her deep breath puffed out in a visible huff. "I'd gone from having two people to please to four, and it made me...cranky."

Marshall raised a brow, and she relented. "Okay, I turned into a fire breathing bitch." He lowered the brow, approving of that assessment. "And still you stayed. When Raph walked out, I knew. Just _knew_ that you were going to work your way back into your role as me if I didn't do something, so I tried to push you away. God. I was _horrible _to you, and you still stood beside me. I couldn't figure it out."

Walking back over to him, she looked up before saying, "Until you leaned over my desk and told me that I needed you instead of some random guy off of the street to right my life. … And it clicked. The easy friendship. The guilt over the ledger. The feeling of wanting you near and yet not wanting you in the destruction zone that is my life. I panicked. My only thoughts were that I had to get away and I had to make you see that I was all wrong for you." Glancing down, she continued with the hard part. "So I did the one thing that, after that speech, you probably wouldn't be able to forgive."

A chilled, leather glove skimmed her cheekbone before settling under her chin and tilting her face up. "You were trying to save me. From you." She nodded, eyes full of emotion. Fear. Self-recrimination. Despair. With a sigh he pulled her into a tight hug, shivering as her cold nose tucked under his shirt collar and against his neck. "Don't you realize that I knew what I was getting into? I knew what to expect, and I did it anyway. I had to."

He felt more than heard her mumbled, "Why?"

"Because..." He tried find a way to put everything he was feeling into words and realized that the English language was wholly inadequate for the task. "Pascal said, 'The heart has its reasons, where of reason knows nothing.'" Much like earlier in the day, he moved to touch his forehead to hers. "I can't explain the whys and wherefores. I just know that my heart wants you."

"Still?"

That one word held so much doubt and hope that Marshall wanted to cry for the woman in his arms who had never been taught about love. Instead, he dropped a swift kiss to her nose and whispered, "Always."

Mary, taking an uncharacteristic leap of faith, closed her eyes and pulled him close. "Okay."

Marshall waited for more, but she remained silent. "Okay? That's all I get?"

Nodding against his chest, he could hear her smirk when she replied, "Yep."

He shrugged. "Okay." Pulling back, he smiled happily as she silently protested the loss of contact. "Later. I don't know about you, but I think it's time to head back. While I know it's a physical impossibility, my feet are still managing to convince my brain that they've turned into two lumps of solid ice." He held out his hand. "Ready to go home?"

_Home. With Marshall. _She liked the sound of that.


End file.
